౨ৎ emily ౨ৎ

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“I guess,” she stumbled, rolling her eyes. “I guess I used to call my violin ‘Squeaky.’ But…” She laughed, looking down at the floor. She heard a rumble from his chest that could have been a laugh. “But I don’t… you know”—she gestured—“have an entire room full of girlfriends.”
Not Another Love Song
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